


The War Within

by Shutterfly



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Fake Character Death, Gay Panic, M/M, Muscles, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shutterfly/pseuds/Shutterfly
Summary: It turns out Glenn Arias played the long game. The world starts dying a slow death. Chris Redfield deals and attempts to stay sober. Leon goes missing, making Chris realize and question many things. Just what conclusions will he come to?-This is my first fic, reviews and critiques are begged for and loved. If anyone could recommend a beta, I'd be eternally grateful.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	The War Within

**Author's Note:**

> It might be a bit slow, at first, but Leon and Chris will definitely meet within the first five chapters. this is my first work, so please tell me what you think! If anyone could recommend a beta, I'd be eternally grateful.

His great grandmother's rosary fitted easily on his mantelpiece.

White pearl beads glimmered in every kind of light. Gold hinges, fragile enough to break, held it all together. Pale lilies embossed the cross in celebration of the wedding for which it was gifted. The silver cross held the slightest bit of melt, but that was all right. Being a tad broken just meant that it survived, but it is the only memento that survived the fire; the fire that stole everything from them-everything but Claire. And she did not want it. Mom's Glory would be terrifying to remember.

Religion was not foreign to Chris. He considered it like an old friend that he outgrew. The kind of friend one ran into once every other year and only had a few good words to say to one another.

For him, God did not survive Arklay mountain, Africa, or China. Once a man sees the cruelty of the world- the corporations murdering thousands, and those that allow it- he changes. Still, if Chris lapses and holds it tight here and there, that is between him and God.

  
Faith is best kept quiet as tears.

What Chris eventually learns, is that Glenn Arias knew that all too well.  
  
Six months after saving Manhattan, the island goes under. For Chris, a sugar coated summary is calling what he felt rage, followed by horror, and finally a bone chilling disbelief. There is more than that- so much more- but emotions are horrible when are put into strict definition.

He only remembers the date because there had been a celebration. A six-month 'yay we all survived' by politicians looking to get favor for the next election. First, everything fell quiet.

So quiet.

The drivers idled their cars. The workers sat at their desks. Parents stood in place while their children's voices lowered into nothingness. The birds, the pets, the smallest sewer rats. Not a single thing dared to move. Within a few scant minutes, a bustling city gained the silence only reserved for the emptiest of tombs. There was no flare of emergency. Not a soul was there to make or receive a call.

Manhattan closed its eyes as a collective; curled up and died.

The BSAA kicked into gear. Chris burned the candle twice as long. He took to calling Claire more often, the shock rattling him to his bones. There might have been more if she had not been the only one he had.

Well, there was Jill, but they never got around to salvaging their relationship after Wesker. Too much unsaid for anything besides a Christmas card.

If it had been God he was looking for during that dark time, he found him. Well, two of them.

Glenn Arias had not acquired the remains of Tricell, Los Iluminados, and Neo-Umbrella without a significant amount of help. One of his top backers was a Filipino drug lord named Dipsy McKinley.

Really.

For all of his billions in wealth, the man had terrible taste in names.

As they are won’t to do, Silver Dagger participated in the raid on the compound Dipsy had holed himself up in. There were none of the expected B.O.W’s, just men with guns that died as easily as a trampled dream.

It was at the end of it, with the troops hogtying a cursing Dipsy, that Nadia let out a very pained, “Son of a whore!”

“Nadia?” Chris called into his earpiece, rifle drawn and already walking to her location, “You okay?”

Glass shattered in her end, prompting Chris to double time it. The two soldiers in his team took no time to follow after, just as ready for war.

She responded just as he got there, near enough that her voice could clearly be heard.

“M’fine,” She grumbled. “Dipsy Doodles taste in pests is the problem.”

And what ensued when Chris got there was, well when the world goes ass up and is stressful enough to almost make him break sobriety, the sight of a cat being the asshole they were was hilarious.

What looks to be an oversized Maine Coon happily shredded into the front of Nadia’s gear. They had scampered off to a couch, letting every inch of displeasure known quite loudly.

“Don’t you laugh at me!” She threatened Chris wholly. Playful menace was the name of their relationship. Almost like siblings.

Chris just snorted. “You probably startled it.”

“He’s still an asshole.”

A justified one, in Chris’s honest opinion. No one likes sudden loud noises or weird people in their home.

“He?” Chris lightly questioned.

“There’s a collar beneath all that fluff. Something Lee.”

With a good eye, the outline of tags were visible. Dark blue background with light silver letters that hid just so. It took a moment to decipher.

“Leon?” Chris could not help the disbelief that bled in.

Dipsy struck again.

It would make sense for Chris, at least. Of course life would push a blue eyed cat named, of all things, Leon, his way. He wondered if the cats attitude is anything like the mans.

“You said pests,” Chris commented, “Where’s the others?”

“Give her a sec,” said Nadia.

On que, another cat nervously pokes her head out from under an overstuffed chair. She was bigger than Leon. There was no other difference save the cerulean colored ribbon on her neck, making her name tag much more readable.

With much distaste, Chris read her name aloud, “Leonora.”

Dipsy must have lost a bet when naming his pets. Or the universe just has it out for Chris. Either way, Claire was going to bust a lung when Chris told her.  
“She’s the sweetie.” Nadia walked over to her, leaning down without a care. “I guess her brother didn’t like her being friends with the good guys.”

Leonora slowly articulated herself into taking one sniff of Nadia’s hand before scampering towards Leon. Again, Chris notes that she and her sibling seem abnormally proportioned. It would not be the first time someone blew money on genetically modified pets.

Though better for Chris, he had no clue why a man of Dipsy’s affiliation would rather a cat then a B.O.W.

  
Without a hint of warning, Leonora smacked at Leon’s face. Once, twice, and then three times. Bullied, he traded screaming for meekness. Then, as if for the fun of it, Leonora repeats herself.

“I have an idea,” said Nadia, cunningly.

“No.”

“Anything could happen to them after we leave.”

“No.”

Nadia was playing on Chris’s habit of mindlessly watching cat videos when he can’t sleep. Sure, he might say cats are pretty nice after a cute clip, but the B.S.A.A. offers none of the stability a real pet needs.

That and the cats might have been Dipsy’s only smart move. Oh look, we found a cat! Oh no, it was secretly a B.O.W. and now everyone’s dead!  
Leon fled from Leonora, unfortunately choosing Chris to hide behind. When he turned his head to him, Leon gives Chris a beseeching look that the human version never would.

“No,” Chris sternly told him.

  
“Have a heart,” said Nadia.

  
Leonora took to washing her paws, as unaffiliated as Chris wished he could be. Playing at being cute, Leon rubbed his face against the back of Chris’s pants.

  
Dammit.

  
“Fine.” Chris gave in with visible reluctance. “But they go to the lab, first. There’s going to be no surprises.”

Leon liked that enough to climb Chris like a tree, just to sit on his shoulder. That was not the end, no, he felt as if he must exclaim his catastic commentary right next to Chris’s poor ear.

A warning growl was spat his way by Leonora, so Leon quiets.

  
“I think the girl is the only thing bigger than your biceps,” said Nadia as she scooped Leonora up. “Maybe we should measure them, see if it’s true.”

To that, Chris gave no reply. He walked to his previous position, a nervous Leon bobbing along with his steps. Leonora perfectly proved content with Nadia until Leon started and then it turned into a sibling game of no, you shut up.

It reminded Chris of him and Claire.

The operation ended without a hitch.

When they got on D.Cs chopper for evac to base, Leonora abandoned Nadia for Chris’s lap. He was terribly displeased about all the fur but relented to how affectionate she was. Jealous, Leon swatted at the side of Chris’s face until he got an ear rub.

“So,” D.C spoke with the grace of a sledgehammer. “We have cats now?”

Nadia shook her head. “The cats have Chris.”

“I had no choice,” Chris said disdainfully.

By the time they got back at base, Chris’s new profession should have been hairball. Picking up his rifle rather than Leonora was a lesson in hostage negotiation.

Peeling off Leon for testing caused both deafness and little pin prick scratches.

He made what had become his standard after mission call to Claire, figured that they would have a chat. Maybe a joke about Leon meeting Leon and his younger sister, Leon.

Chris had a high opinion of Leon Kennedy, even liked the man, but they were purely oil and vinegar.

Well, if he thought about it, Chris found that to be somewhat inaccurate. China was enough to respect each other. Ada Wong would not something Chris would hold against Leon, either. Pot meet kettle.

Glenn Arias proved they could work together.

But Chris was riding Leon’s ass the whole time and Leon was giving in.

Should Chris have apologized for that?

The moles family calling was involuntary incentive Chris had no control over. While he had meant every word of needing Leon, that and his double team with Rebecca definitely put Leon in a corner.

Fuck. Chris needed to apologize.

Incensed, Chris dialed Claire’s with plans to lead into asking for Leon’s contact. They did not get more than a few words in.

“Could you repeat that?” Chris kept his voice light, faking like he misunderstood her.

“Leon disappeared a few days ago,” Claire took a heavy breath, holding back tears. “His tracker went offline in Canada and he never checked in.”

“I’ll take leave,” Chris said immediately, plans forming. Who to call. What to pack. Favors to come due. “We could tra-”

How easily he placed his life down for a one time partner. Or is it more for the apology?

No, Chris refused that.

“Chris.” The cutoff was final. She swallowed over the line. “The search team found him, what may be him, but I’m sure it is.”

A leg, of all things, with enough blood spatter to guarantee someone bled out.

The call ended a few seconds after that, neither of them having the energy to continue.

A familiar hopelessness ate at Chris when he settled down for the night, even skipping dinner in favor of a deep blanketed bed.

As lonely moonlight bled through the window, the rosary may have worked its way into his hands. An hour could have been spent mindlessly counting the beads instead of screaming. The neon red of the cheap alarm clock may have burnt away another, all on its own, from Chris staring mindlessly staring at the cross.  
When want of a beer threatened to unmoor him, Chris traded the thought for a dumb determination for a hobby.

Working through his distress had always been the best for him. Cooking seemed a good idea.

Grilling had been one of his talents, once, but he lost the taste for it after zombie cooked flesh became the norm.

Arklay ached to turn his mind back towards the familiar shores of alcoholism. Lisa’s Trevor’s memento screams were always on the heels of those thoughts, eager to pull Chris into the pit she escaped to.

  
Rosary cutting into his hand, Chris escaped to his cellphone. O’Brian had once told Chris to read more. That a book could offer a healthier escape then the, now mostly cut through, emotive tendencies of his younger years.

  
Hello Kindle. Hello self-help, baking, and high literature categories. Goodbye, money Chris never spent.

Reading was attempted, but wildly unsuccessful. Pablo Neruda proved no shield for the tremor starting in Chris’s arm.

If he were in his twenties, the phone would have already met wall.

A pale rosary bead made its way between his thumb and pointer.

God was too big. His son was the sacrifice made.

Mary, maybe she would understand.

Salve Regina passed from his mouth murmured, quietly, in secret, made word between the shadow and the soul.

Leon lay in the meaning. Then, Piers, because he deserved just as much. These names Chris did not utter. They were held as tightly as an unbloomed flower does the bud.

He held the rosary against his heart, afterwards. A foreign feeling bloomed from the touch.

Brittle meowing broke the absorption. Chris lifted his head to find ribbon necked Leonora and steel throated Leon staring him down. They perched on his desk as a gargoyle would Notre Dame.

And if, yes, if the two of them leapt atop Chris and purred like they understood, and if, just if, Leonora licked salt from his cheek, then that is a secret Chris trundled away for Mary’s keeping.


End file.
